I think I must be weird or something. I think this because I realized yesterday afternoon that I actually like getting my teeth cleaned. I like the picking, and the scraping, and I even like the polish thingy.

Anyway, after my dentist appointment I took a nap, then at around 8:30 I went to Rich O's.

The place was completely packed with strangers and assholes, so I turned around and left immediately. I stood out in the parking lot and tried to decide what I should do. I could just go back home because I was pretty tired after all. I could go over to The Pub in Louisville and have some of their yummy Newcastle. I briefly considered then dismissed the idea of going to The BBC for some of their yummy porter.

In the end, all of those options seemed like too much trouble, plus my sister had told me that she might come to Rich O's, so I went back in.

For a while I just stood at the end of the bar and had Smithwick's (1172), then some strangers left the bar so I sat there and had another Smithwick's (1192).

I talked to no corporeal beings all night, even when people would come up to me I did my best to shoo them away. It was not a night for socializing.

My last two beers were in the form of bottled Newcastle (2452.) Both were absolutely yummy.

In retrospect, I should have just stayed home last night. The entire night was a waste. Even the ghost couldn't bring me out of my funk.

This time, it wasn't a chill that ran down my spine. This time, it was a vision.

Just a flash of an inkling of a hint of a face. Eyes. A smile. Sparkles.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," I said.

"Sorry I'm late," she said.

"Don't worry about it," I answered. "I wasn't even sure you'd be here tonight."

"I wanted to be here earlier," she explained, "but there were all these girls in my way."

I'd been expecting this.

"Those are just whores," I said. "You can go right by them."

"They looked mean," she said.

"It's all show," I explained. "They know who you are. What you mean to me. They'll get out of your way. And if they don't you can just go right through them. They're no match for you."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"I'm positive," I answered. "They are nothing compared to you."

"Okay." She seemed relieved. "Did you miss me?"

"Only when I breathed," I responded.

She smiled.

I won again.

I dreamed that I was swimming upstream somewhere, and it was hard, and to keep myself focused I was singing a song to myself.

It was a fucking awesome song. Kind of hard rock with ballady parts thrown in, or maybe it was a ballad with hard rocky parts thrown in. Whatever. It was awesome.

Also, I looked up ahead of me to see where all the water was coming from, and some whore had opened the valve on a dam. And she was laughing her ass off. What a whore.

Seeing the future is easy when you've seen it all before. And for years and years, this particular scenario is pretty much all I saw. All I lived.

It'll be fun. It'll be relaxing. It'll let me feel more like myself. Instead of like this cowering pussy I've been feeling like lately. I'll be able to coast through this. If I were an actor, then I'd say that this is the role I was born to play.

I can see exactly how the next six months are going to play out. I don't need a crystal ball, or tarot cards, or fucking tea leaves. I'm no withered old hag, I'm just a guy with a pretty good memory. So I know what's going to happen, because it's already happened so many times before.

I'm really looking forward to it.

Even though it might not seem like I'm enjoying myself, don't be fooled. Even though I'll start throwing words like slut and whore around, even though it'll seem like I'm pretty much miserable at times, even though you might feel this motherly urge to snap me out of it and to try to make me feel better - don't bother.

I'll be fine.

I'll be having fun.

I'll be myself again.

Today is moving day at work.

They're taking my entire (IT) department and moving us downtown, and today is my team's turn.

I've been looking forward to the move, for various reasons, not the least of which is that I'll be closer to MixedSignalGirl. So we could do lunch or whatever if we ever get our collective shit together.

I'm not exactly holding my breath though.

Anyway, I'm still sitting at home right now. No sense rushing in to work at the crack of 8:00 when none of my stuff has been moved to the new building yet. So I've been working on some security documentation. It's just incredibly fun stuff. Not.

Remember a while back when I wrote that my wants were wandering aimlessly because my needs had been met? The problem with that is that I knew my wants would fixate on the first thing they bumped in to. Yeah, well that's happened now. It kinda sucks, but I'm used to it.

I'm not much of a poetry person, but I really love this snippet from Rupert Brooke.

When two mouths, thirsty each for each, find slaking,

I need a really good slaking.

A nice little daydream. That's all it is.

No way I'd ever actually do anything to maybe help bring it to fruition.

Because, that would be hard. And stuff. And risky. And stuff.

I dream of starting over. Leaving all of this (*wide sweeping gesture*) behind and just going to wherever my heart leads me.

Funny how I used the word wherever. Almost sounds random, doesn't it?

Well random happened a long time ago. One thousand one hundred and forty-eight days ago. Random is over. Done. Kaput. Finished. Obsolete. History. You get the idea.

So anyway, I dream of going there and then the dream gets pretty fuzzy.

It's still a nice little daydream though.

That's the subject of some SPAM I got today.

Now I don't work in sales, but I really don't think insulting a potential customer from the get-go is the best approach.

Plus, I'm neither of those things.

The minutes take eternities to pass, but somehow the years rush by.

Two years have passed in the blink of a teary eye.

I never thought it would happen. I fought for so long, I convinced myself that I was winning. I faked a smile for so long, I convinced myself that I was happy. I fell for so long, I convinced myself that I was flying.

I never thought it would happen. I never thought it could happen.

But it did.

Splat!

My world still reverberates from the force of that impact.

I don't want to say any more.

I've already said too much, yet I could never never never say enough.

Those two words would lead to those three words would lead to a billion more words, and still it would not be enough.

8:55
It's pretty dead here. There are about 10 strangers, including a bunch of beatniks in the living room. Some dipshit is in my favorite seat at the bar, so I'm sitting at the island. My beer: A bottle of Avery The Reverend. That's right, a rematch from last night.

9:00
There are strangers working tonight. The regulars are all at some wedding.

9:02
All three of those beatnik girls are hot.

9:05
CuteBartender just stopped and talked to me some. She's cute as a bug. Oh yeah, CuteBartender is working tonight, so it's not all strangers.

9:12
I think the two blonde beatnik girls are twins. Mmmmmm, hot twins.

9:18
These idiots behind me are talking about how the Rich O's in Nashville is better because you can get burgers there. News Flash: There's only one Rich O's, and you're sitting in it. You dumbasses.

9:19
Burgers would be cool though.

9:21
That brunette beatnik girl is smoldering hot. She looks like HatGirl, except slutty.

9:25
Reverend, your name tries to mask your true nature, but I am not fooled. Tonight, I am ready. Tonight, you will be defeated.

9:27
I wonder what SassyGirl is doing right now. (checking watch, calculating time difference) Probably sleeping. She wouldn't think any of these beatnik girls are hot. She never liked any of the girls I liked.

9:28
I miss SassyGirl.

9:37
These temporary bartenders have an annoying habit of looking at me all the time. I am not, as I've already stated, a piece of meat.

9:39
This dingbat behind me just asked me why the red room is called the red room. I told her that it might have something to do with the wall that's painted red, but that my money was on the 11,000 pieces of Communist memorabilia on the walls.

9:40
Piss time.

9:42
The ghost is here.

9:55
The ghost is leaving.

10:00
There a surprise party in the red room now. I'm picking up my shit and moving to the bar.

10:03
The beatniks are leaving.

10:06
Who the fuck was that?

10:07
There's a chick with a laptop, not LaptopGirl, pretty much the opposite of LaptopGirl in fact, and her laptop's screen is way too bright. It's filling the room with an eerie glow. It looks like aliens are invading.

10:15
ArtistGuy just came in. He's fucking plastered. Or exhausted. I'm betting on plastered.

10:20
CuteBartender won't take that bet.

10:21
And The Reverend (180) is down! Dave wins! Dave wins!

10:22
I order a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (1547).

10:40
I've been talking to the dipshit. He's pretty cool. He was going to buy a DaveFest shirt but I'm out of his size.

10:45
They're perfect, I bet. Firm and perky and just the right size.

10:47
Piss time.

11:00

11:15
I order a Schlenkerla Rauchbier Weizen (52).

11:27
The wedding party has arrived.

There is nothing to see.

There is nothing to hear.

It is, as it always is, much more subtle than those glaring things would be.

A chill runs down my spine, and then it takes the seat next to me.

And, somehow, it warms me.

"Did you miss me?" she asks.

I take a long drag from my cigarette. I hold it for a long time. I let it out ever so slowly.

This is a game, a game that we always play.

She asks me the question, and she waits for an answer even though she knows the answer; even though I've answered the same way each and every time.

I take a sip of my beer. I swirl it around it my mouth. I savor it.

She's waited long enough.

"Only when I breathe," I say.

I dare not look at her. I need not look at her. I know what she's doing.

She's smiling.

She smiles, like she always does.

Then she frowns, like she always does.

She doesn't know how to respond.

She's silent.

I win again.

---

Wonderful eternities pass.

---

"This was nice," she says.

"I think so too," I reply.

"I'm so glad you were here," she says.

My eyes roll back. I recognize this, another game that we play.

"Where else would I be?" I ask, even though I know the answer.

She ignores my question.

She is uncomfortable, unsure, insecure.

"I might be back in a couple of days," she offers.

"I'll be here," I say, just like I always say.

"I don't know exactly when I'll be back," she says.

I take a long drag from my cigarette. I hold it for a long time.

I take a sip from my beer. I swirl it around in my mouth. I savor it.

"I'll wait for you," I say. "As long at it takes."

She wins again.

I suppose I should write my Friday report, before I'm washed to my doom in this flooding.

(DISCLAIMER: I know that some people have real floods to deal with. Some people lose everything they own, even their lives, to flooding. But I don't know any of those people, so it's okay.)

When I left my house to go to Rich O's last night it was pouring down rain.

I got there at about 8:00 I think. Doesn't really matter. The place was fucking packed. I ordered a Bell's Kalamazoo Stout (470) and sat at the island with some people I know and some people I don't know.

After a while, the voice of one of the people I don't know started slicing through my skull and vibrating all of my brain cells into mush, so I grabbed my shit and moved to the bar. It was either that or murder her.

And there I sat.

At the bar, I spent most of my time talking to the ghost. It was nice to see her again. I also texted RockGirl and I also talked to some stranger who was sitting at the other end of the bar.

The Bells's wasn't tasting very good. Probably my fault. So I ordered a bottle of Avery The Reverend.

And then I sat some more. I was really enjoying the solitude. Really. I sorta wished that I'd brought my notebook though. I could have written down the conversation that I had with the ghost.

Well The Reverend turned out to be too much for me and my semi-empty stomach, so I didn't quite finish the bottle (158).

When I left Rich O's it was pouring down rain. When I got home there was water seeping into my basement. It sucked. It still sucks.

Anyway, I was bored so I was going to go to this Korner Kitchen bar near my house but NotHideousGirl texted me so I went to see her instead. I went to this Mac's place that I don't like and I drank about a million Diet Cokes and talked to NotHideousGirl until they closed the place down at 3:00 and kicked us out.

On the way home (again) it was still fucking pouring down rain.

The main road to my house was blocked because of flooding, so I took the alternate road. That road featured about a dozen telephone poles in various states of scatteredness. These were I guess new poles that somebody had stashed somewhere so they'd be available when it came time to install them.

Brilliant plan, asshole.

The first pole I encountered was completely blocking the road, but I was able to shift into 4WD and drive through the ditch next to the road. Then there was a truck coming my way so I waved to get him to stop and told him about the pole. He told me that there were a dozen more poles waiting for me in the direction I was heading.

Yippee!

Most of these poles were not completely blocking the road so I could just drive around them. But one of them, the last one in fact, lay across the road at a point where there was no way to go around.

So I shifted back into 4WD, and drove right over the fucker.

That was pretty cool.

So I made it home and spent some time sucking water off of my basement floor with my shop vac.

When I went to bed it was still pouring down rain.

As I write this it's pouring down rain again.

I think I saw an ark go by earlier.

It is raining like a mother fucker.

My basement carpet is getting wet. I hate it when that happens.

I set off my alarm when I opened my basement door to dump water out of my shop vac. I really hate it when that happens.

Stupid rain.

Look, I know that I look good in these jeans. I can't help it, and it's not the reason I'm wearing them.

I paid my five bucks so I could wear jeans today because it's comfortable, not so I could be ogled by every woman that sees me.

And it's not just the ogling, it's the flirting. The incessant attempts to start conversations.

Yes, I know it's raining outside.

No, your weather report will not make me love you for your firm grasp of current events.

Yes, I'm moving to the new building next Thursday.

No, I'm not taking you with me.

Yes, it's finally Friday.

Sorry, but I already have plans for the entire weekend.

You're all acting like giggling schoolgirls, and I'd like you to stop.

I have work to do.

I'm finding myself terribly concerned about a friend of mine. Much more concerned than I should be, given the rudimentary and intangible nature of our friendship. More of an acquaintanceship, really.

But still, I am concerned. I wish there was something I could say or do. Not to make her pain go away, as that's not my place in her life, but something to let her know...

...that she's really not alone.

But there's a problem.

I'm a guy.

She's a girl.

Anything that I say or do is going to be misinterpreted. A smile will become a wink. A simple conversation will become selfish manipulation. A compassionate hug will become a passionate embrace.

So I do nothing except sit here and write this crap, and try to send calming thoughts her way.

It's certainly not enough, but anything more would be too much.

I suppose I should just come out and say it.

I'm not worthy.

Sometimes they figure that out on their own, before it's too late. Maybe it's some little thing I say or some half-hidden expression I make. A frown perhaps, or a scowl.

But sometimes, sometimes they don't see this truth, or they see it but they don't recognize it. Maybe they just don't trust their own instincts. Maybe they still believe the lies that they've heard about love all their lives, the same lies that they keep telling themselves over and over.

The thing is, there is a reason that I'm sitting here, alone, at 1:00 AM on a Thursday night. Many reasons, in fact.

But sometimes they just don't get it. They think that the entire world has been wrong about me, and they think that only they have seen the real person lurking behind these eyes.

Sometimes they find out in time. Sometimes they find out too late. But they always find out.

I was right there, and yet I still can't believe it really happened.

I suppose it's partly because I didn't write about it that makes it seem so, I dunno, like I was dreaming all of it.

So I guess this journal is good for some things. If I use it. If I let myself use it.

Anyway.

I got so used to imagining certain things. Using fantasy to fill the holes in my life that disappointment kept revealing to me.

And then imagination and fantasy and reality collided and merged and even fused for a while.

Fucking surreal.

I wonder, was that the night I got my life back, or it merely the beginning of a new end?

I wonder, if this is merely a sequel, will it be as good as the first one?

Sequels are almost never as good.

menu, messages, text messages, inbox, down, down, down, menu, erase, yes, end

menu, messages, text messages, outbox, down, down, menu, erase, yes, end

If I hadn't done those things, then by now I'd probably wish that I had. If I hadn't done these things, then by now you'd probably wish that I had.

But I did do those things, so it's win-win, right?

Right?

I hope you understand, I had to do those things. I fucking had to, for both of our sakes.

It was nice though, hearing from you.

It pretty much made my year. Maybe even my life.

But I still had to do those things.

Maybe one day, I won't have to do them anymore.

Maybe one day, I'll trust myself again.

Maybe.

Sorry, ladies, but your dreams have not come true.

There are not three of me.

I got this idea from netmale a long time ago and completely forgot about it until MixedSignalGirl "found" some scrubs for me at work today.

I don't know if I can remember enough of this to make the posting worthwhile or not. Oh well. I suppose that worthwhile isn't something that's expected to go with this type of post anyway.

I was in Louisville, getting ready to check out the new building that I'm moving into for work.

While I was walking up the sidewalk I ran into my cousin, and I invited him to come along.

So we went into the building and took a little self-guided tour. When I was ready to leave my cousin went and opened this one door. I knew that it was a door that I wasn't allowed to use because, even though my company owns the building, there were still some parts that were off-limits to peons like me.

Beyond the forbidden door there was a big fancy room, like a hotel lobby or something. And beyond that there was a fancy restaurant. I kept trying to get my cousin to leave before I got into trouble, but he walked purposefully to a table and sat.

He kept thanking me for bringing him to that place, telling me how much it meant to him and how long he'd dreamed of being there.

It was about then that I remembered two things:

1. It was New Years Eve.
2. My cousin was a lunatic.

I decided to ditch the psycho and I started looking for an exit. At one point I found myself in a glass elevator with a few other people. All of a sudden my cousin was in the elevator too. He was wearing a bathrobe and doing a really bad Elvis impersonation.

The other people in the elevator were groaning and telling him to shut up, and he starting waxing philosophically about some bullshit or other and he whipped open his bathrobe.

The crowd gasped.

My cousin had mutilated his genitals. His penis was just a bloody stub, and his testicles were just hanging there with nothing around them. Just blood and gore.

Yes, it was gross.

Yes, I got the fuck out of that elevator.

I went running out into the street. I was going to flag down a cop, but then I remembered that it was New Years Eve and they probably had better things to do.

The other day after work I had a beer that was new to me:

Rogue Imperial Porter

(draft) Pretty good. This reminded me of Bell's Kalamazoo Stout more than anything else. A slight slant toward the coffee side of the flavor spectrum as opposed to the chocolate side. The fairly high ABV is very well hidden.

Friday night was SassyGirl's going-away party. After an after-work nap that lasted about an hour longer than I'd wanted it to, I packed up some beer and headed to the boonies.

Parties at SassyGirl's have always consisted of two or three people that I know and a bunch of strangers. It's a lot like Rich O's I suppose, except that at these parties the strangers have been screened a little better.

To drink, I had two bottles of yummy Rogue Chocolate Stout (1050) and two yummy bottles of Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (1497). Not all at the same time though. I stretched them out for several hours.

It was a very subdued affair as parties go. There was some drama fairly late that made everyone feel uncomfortable, and so I came home a little after 2:00.

Saturday night, because my sister's party was cancelled, I went to Rich O's. SassyGirl and JauntyGirl were there with some of their friends, most notably TrainGirl who I hadn't seen in a long time. So that was cool.

I sat in the throne and had a pint of the aforementioned Rogue Imperial Porter (40).

Then there was more drama. SassyGirl almost got herself 86ed from the place, on her last night, by carrying a lit cigarette through the nonsmoking section. It's a good thing nobody died.

At some point I had another Rogue (60).

Once the girls had left some PBDs came over and sat with me in the living room area. One of them told me that I'm in trouble for offending someone with one of my comics. My response is basically don't look if you don't like it.

I was going to have another Rogue, but it's pretty strong (7.77%) so I only drank half (70) and I gave the rest to CoffeeDude.

I stopped on the way home at this little bar to see if VigilanteGirl was there, but she wasn't. I ended up staying and having a bottle of slightly skunked Newcastle.

This morning I'm just incredibly hung-over.

So tonight I said goodbye to SassyGirl. She's fleeing the country and I probably won't ever see her again - despite promises to the contrary.

I feel like such a shithead.

I will miss SassyGirl very much. I will miss her more than I could describe here, in this journal.

But, and this bothers me to feel this way just as it bothers me to write this, but in the grand scheme of things this is nothing.

Nothing at all.

SassyGirl leaving, my best friend leaving, this is just another straw dropped onto this poor camel's back. But this camel's back has been broken for a very long time. One more straw means nothing in the grand scheme of things.

You know what her leaving does to me?

Go ahead, guess.

What it does to me is this - it reminds me of another time, almost two years ago, when another girl left. When another girl left and I died inside.

Tonight, I hugged SassyGirl goodbye. I told her to take care of herself. I kissed her cheek. I told her to keep in touch. I told her I loved her.

Two years ago, someone else left my life. I didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't get to hug her. I didn't get to kiss her cheek. I didn't get to tell her I loved her.

I didn't get to do shit.

Except die inside. I fucking nailed that.

Tonight, I said goodbye to SassyGirl. Tonight this should have been important. This should have been memorable.

But it wasn't.

Instead, it was a reminder. A reminder of someone else.

I'm such a shithead.

I will miss SassyGirl very much.

But I miss, I will continue to miss another the way a flower misses the Sun and the rain.

This is who I am. This is what I do.

I don't have to like it very much, but I do have to accept it.

Eventually, maybe I'll manage that feat.

Today after finishing up some work crap, I slept all damn day.

I hate it when I do this. Especially on a day that, on the outside at least, is as beautiful as this one is.

To be fair, I didn't get nearly enough sleep last night. I didn't get home from SassyGirl's party until after 3:00, then I had to work at 8:00. So I was tired.

But, problem is, being tired is only half the reason I slept the day away. Maybe not even half. Maybe it's no reason at all.

Maybe it's just an excuse.

An excuse for what?

Even if I knew, I don't think I'd allow myself to say. Not to myself, and not to this journal.

Found out yesterday morning that I'm on-call this week. This sucks extra hard because (a) SassyGirl's going away party is Friday night, and (b) My sister is having a party on Saturday.

I absolutely will not miss SassyGirl's party, and my sister may kill me if I miss yet another one of her parties, so I've pleaded with my coworkers to trade some on-call days and cover for me from Friday evening until Sunday morning. No response yet.

There is absolutely nothing else going on. There probably should be, but there isn't.

I went to Rich O's after work yesterday, and had an NABC Artemsia (300). I also managed to put myself into one of the best moods I've felt in a very long time. I was able, for a half hour or so, to forget that the last two years ever happened. It was nice.

Then today I went after work to see SassyGirl. I had a Smithwick's (1152).

This is boring.

It was at about this time last year that writing was effortless for me.

At least I think it was this time last year. To actually go and check would be like, hard and stuff. Plus I might find out that I'm wrong and that would totally invalidate my opening sentence.

And what's an entry without an opening sentence?

Not very much, that's what. Just a title and a timestamp. And maybe a category or two. But that's it.

But I digress.

I've had this damn entry title in my head since April. For five months I've known what I wanted to write about, but I didn't know what I wanted to write.

And now, now recent events have brought the entire matter to a head. I need to write something about it, if only to get my head wrapped around it. It is important that I know what I'm doing here. Life has offered me a second chance. I doubt that there'll be a third.

I still don't know what I want to write though. That's why I'm rambling on here. I'm waiting for a flash of inspiration or something. Anything. Please.

Okay.

Once upon a time there was this guy. Not a knight or a prince or anything cool like that. Just a regular guy.

Nope. That sucks.

Maybe I'm just not supposed to write about this. People might actually read it, if I wrote something. She might actually read it.

I guess I should think about this some more.

Man I'm so behind on these things. But I don't feel like writing so I'm just going to rush through this.

---

On Tuesday, I went to Rich O's to see SassyGirl and JauntyGirl. This could be the last time I get to see them in that place, so it was kind of bittersweet for me. I took a picture to remember them by.

To drink, I had myself three glasses of Delirium Tremens (712).

After the girls left I stuck around and talked to CoffeeDude for quite a while. I think I bored him with my stories, but at least we didn't talk about coffee. I also tried to get MixedSignalGirl (yes, we're talking again) to come but we got into a fight instead.

---

Wednesday night, I was in Broomfield Colorado. There was a brewpub right next to my hotel. I think it was called CB & Potts, but it was the Big horn Brewery too. Or maybe Ram brewing. It was quite confusing.

Anyway, I had myself a yummy steak dinner, and with it I had a couple of beers:

Big Horn Hefeweizen (20)

(draft) Served in a glass that was way too cold. There were ice crystals in the beer. Once it had thawed out a little, this was a pretty good beer. Very much a German-style wheat, but with the tiniest little bite of hops in the finish. I liked it.

Big Horn Total Disorder Porter (20)

(draft) Very nice. Chocolately and roasty and malty. If this was available near my home it would be one of my favorite beers.

While I was there I talked to the hot bartender and I had several phone conversations with MixedSignalGirl. To drink, I had a 24-ounce glass of Fat Tire (403) and then a regular 16-ounce glass of Newcastle (2348). Then I ordered some chicken tenders and went back to the hotel.

---

Thursday I didn't drink anything. I didn't do anything except go to class and then read a book in my room.

---

Friday I didn't drink anything. All I did was check my email every 10 seconds and try to avoid having a total meltdown.

---

Saturday I flew back home.

After a nice meal at the haunted Burger King, I went to Rich O's and got there at about 8:00. I waved at MusicalHippyDude and GlassesGirl who were sitting at the island, and I sat in the throne and talked to a couple that seemed to know me. I will now christen then Scarecrow and HopGirl.

I had a Delirium Tremens (722).

After a while everybody around me started talking about boring stuff so I moved up to the island. This was about the time I had another Delirium Tremens (732).

Then those people started talking about boring stuff. I realized that I was just bored and that it had nothing to do with anyone else. So I texted HatGirl on the off-chance that she'd come to Rich O's.

Well it worked! I got a reply back that they'd be coming in! Yay!

I think that this was about when I ordered my third Delirium Tremens (742).

After a million years, during which I tried somewhat successfully to lure MusicalHippyDude into interesting conversations, HatGirl came in to say "Hi." She and her sister and LuckyFucker were sitting out front. So after a suitable interval I went out to sit with them.

HatGirl!

Yay!

I spent the next hour or two migrating back and forth between the island and the front area.

Sometime during that period I had a fourth Delirium Tremens (752).

After HatGirl and company left I moved back to the island for good. WomanRepellant had snuck in at some point, as had Bubbles and NoNickNameDude. So I finished my beer and talked with them for a while. I also had a couple Diet Cokes to give the beer time to wear off.

I came home at 12:30 or so.

...limiting the amount of hotness that any one girl can exude.

That is all.

It lies cold and lifeless in my hand. I don't know what happened. I don't know if it's temporary. I don't know if it's all in my mind.

But I do know that I don't like this very much.

How do you breathe new life into something that, technically, never lived in the first place? Is it even possible? I must try, but I don't know where to start.

That is stupid, people will think. It is, after all, just a rock.

Did I finally ask too much of it? Or has the world finally thrust upon me the one thing that cannot be helped? The pain that can't be soothed, the fear that can't be calmed.

The grief that can't me mourned.

Maybe that's what it is. Maybe there's some rule that covers this sort of thing. Maybe I'll have to deal with this on my own. I suppose that would make sense, if any of this made any sense.

It is, after all, just a rock.

So I'm pretty disappointed with my stalker community.

I mean, I had one girl surprise me in Las Vegas, but I'm not even sure that PictureGirl counts because she knew me then found my journal.

But I had zero obsessed stalkers in Denver. Just like in there were zero in Cleveland and in St. Louis earlier this year.

The Denver count makes me sad. I had high hopes (Okay, regular hopes. Okay, slim hopes. Okay, it at least crossed my mind) that my favorite Coloradonian would show up at the airport, or at the hotel. She could have at least written a message in blood, professing her undying devotion, on my rental car's windshield.

That would have made the trip worthwhile.

Anyway, I'm home now. My bedroom window is in the Northeast corner of my house. I usually sleep in the nude.

Watch out for bees though. There may be some left out there.

I lucked into it today. I sent a text message off to RockGirl, and in it I included the phrase that I'd been looking for all week.

I feel out of sync.

Something is amiss.

This could be jet lag I suppose. But it's not.

I wish it was. But it's not.

I fear that my needs are no longer a subset of my wants. I fear, in fact, that my needs have been satisfied. And now, now my wants have nothing to anchor them. So they wander aimlessly.

This could be bad.

Well this is kind of interesting, this image that's been stuck in my head since about noon EDT on Wednesday.

I am apparently much more disgusting and typical and hormonal than I thought I was.

Just a quick post here. I don't have many definite plans.

I arrive in Denver at 2:55 on some American Airlines flight from Dallas. Then, I'll get my rental car and drive to Broomfield and check into the Towneplace Suites.

After that, I have no plans. Except for the class I'll be taking on Thursday and Friday. I'd had a brilliant idea for Friday night, but I don't have the funding to pull it off.

I'll probably just stick around Broomfield and maybe see if there are any decent bars there.

Then I leave at like 10:00 Saturday morning and I get back to Louisville at 5:25.

Three or four years ago I had a yellowjacket nest in my yard. I went to the hardware store and bought some foamy shit to kill them. I sprayed their hole. They died.

That's the way it's supposed to work.

This year, this year it's just a teeny bit different.

This year I had four nests. Two in my front yard and two in my back yard.

The two back yard nests seem to have been normal ones. Those bees seem to have been killed with a single application of the foamy shit.

The two front yard nests are occupied by some kind of super yellowjacket. I've sprayed each of those nest with the foamy shit four times. The dude that mows my lawn has sprayed each of these nests at least twice. We're talking an entire can with each spraying.

I guess I should say the dude that used to mow my lawn because he hasn't mowed the front yard in two months. He got sick and tired of being stung. I don't blame him a bit.

I figure that these front yard bees are shampooing with the foamy shit, or brushing their teeth with it. Do bees even have hair and/or teeth? I doubt it. But whatever, they're sure not dying from the stuff.

So today I went back to the hardware store and asked them for something would kill yellowjackets. The dweeb pointed to the cans of foamy shit. I said, "No, the bees in my yard use that stuff to clean their contacts or something. They're immune to it."

So the dweeb called the manager over, and the manager recommended some non-foamy shit that's mostly for hornets. It's supposed to knock them right out of the air. I bought six cans.

I came home and pulled my truck up to one of the nests. I got to where I could clearly see down the hole of the nest. Then I rolled down my window, took a can of the non-foamy shit, and soaked that hole. Then I took another can and soaked it again.

Next, I drove over to the second, larger, nest. This one features a hole big enough that a small child could crawl in. I thought briefly about bribing a small child to go in there with a flyswatter, but alas, I'm fresh out of disposable children.

Back to plan A. Or maybe plan B - I think the foamy shit was plan A. Plan C is sell my house.

I was able to get almost one entire can sprayed into the hole before the super yellowjackets came streaming out of it. I rolled up my window as quickly as I could and I got the fuck out of there.

I drove up and down the road to throw the bees off my trail, then I pulled into my garage.

Just before I typed this I looked out my front door at that second nest. The bees are using the non-foamy shit to fill their new swimming pool. They're having a grand time.

Avery The Reverend: 22
Delirium Tremens: 22.4
Newcastle: 24
Me: 0

And I'm done.

Thanks to those of you who put up with me tonight.

It was fun.

Avery The Reverend: 22
Delirium Tremens: 22.4
Newcastle: 16
Me: 0

Sometimes, sometimes I ask myself, What was I afraid of? What held me back? What was the worst thing that could have happened?

Then, if I think about it enough and if I'm honest enough with myself, I remember what could have happened. What almost happened, if I'm to believe the things that I've heard.

That worst thing, that disaster which I'd struggled so hard to prevent - that thing was right in front of me. I was staring right at it. But I didn't care, not anymore. I was tired of fighting it. I took that step forward...

...and I stepped off a cliff.

That was pretty lucky, I think. That cliff being there.

Avery The Reverend: 22
Delirium Tremens: 22.4
Newcastle: 9
Me: 0

...something happened. Actually a lot of stuff happened.

I can't and/or won't really write about it though. Except to say that it was good.

Life is good. For now.

In the morning, I'll wake up. In more ways than one.

I'm not looking forward to it.

Avery The Reverend: 22
Delirium Tremens: 22.4
Me: 0

You know what I want?

You know that thing which, if you strip away all of the polishes and all of the veneers and all of the stains, that thing which I still want more than I've ever wanted anything in my entire life?

You know what that thing is?

If you know, would you please tell me. Because I don't have a fucking clue.

All I know is that this isn't it.

Not even close.

Also, I'm switching to Newcastle now. I'm fresh out of belgians.

Avery The Reverend: 22
Delirium Tremens: 14
Me: 0

Reese Witherspoon is hot.

Not all the time.

Like I didn't think she was that great in Cruel Intentions. Sarah Michelle Gellar was about a zillion times hotter than Reese Witherspoon in that movie.

But Reese is still hot sometimes.

Like in Sweet Home Alabama.

My fucking hosting company has decided that it would be funny to have my email break.

Again.

Avery The Reverend: 22
Delirium Tremens: 11.2
Me: 0

What's wrong with you?

This does not compute.

Maybe you're gay.

I bet that's it.

I can't think of any other reason.

Avery The Reverend: 22
Delirium Tremens: 6.2
Me: 0

You know what pisses me off?

When people tell me that he seems like a pretty nice guy.

Here's a news flash for you fuckers: I'm a pretty fucking nice guy myself.

I'd much rather be told what an asshole he is. Because I know that I'm no match for that. But my niceness, my niceness I'll put up against anyone's.

There, I bet I'll regret writing this entry in the morning.

That didn't take as long as I'd thought it would.

So far:

Avery The Reverend: 22
Me: 0

These damn questions are still nagging at me though. I knew that one bottle, even a 22-ounce 10% bottle, wouldn't be enough to put these questions to rest for the night.

I wonder, how many senseless entries I can post before I finally, mercifully, stop?

I wonder, can I keep them senseless, or will I'll write something that I'll regret?

So tomorrow is an anniversary of sorts.

One of the few good ones.

After tomorrow, they'll all suck until December.

Reminders of death and desertion and deception and denial are what the Fall brings to me, but tomorrow is still Summer.

A wise man once asked, What is it about anniversaries? They really, when you think about it, hold no meaning at all. Whatever they signify, it's not happening now - it happened a year ago, or ten years ago. Whatever. Why should a date on a calendar receive special merit just because something once happened on that same date in the past?

I don't know why anniversaries get special attention, but sometimes I'm glad that they do. I'm glad that she remembers what tomorrow is.

Our anniversary.

You ever think about how constant constancy is?

That's probably why they call it that, instead of transience or something like that.

I thought that the word would be constance, but it's not. I looked it up. It's constancy.

That's weird. Transient becomes transience, but constant becomes constancy. Fucking English.

Anyway, one thing has remained constant through all of this bullshit that I've used instead of a life for the past two years.

Is the phrase remained constant repetitive? Probably.

Maybe they used the word constance because that's a chick's name. Or something like that.

Later.

Tonight, I plan to drink. I've got some lovely beer in my fridge. A large bottle of Avery The Reverend and two small bottles of Delirium Tremens. All will be yummy.

I'm drinking at home Rich O's is closed. Bars that close on Labor Day make me sad.

And, when I'm sad, I drink.

No, it is not circular reasoning, so shut up.

Also tonight, I plan to ponder something that was revealed to me the other night. Something which I will keep to myself. It just doesn't compute, and I fear that my brain may explode when I try to comprehend it.

I wonder if my cats would eat my brains?

Probably. Ungrateful little snots.

Besides being sad and trying to compute the incomputable and planning my cats' next meal, I'm doing some wondering.

Wondering is a bad thing. It must be stopped. It must be drowned with alcohol.

I mean, what the fuck? Seriously, how could that be possible? It just doesn't compute. Is he fucking stupid or something?

I need a drink.

I was checking out HarpO's videos and, while I knew that I could never compete with the harp playing, I felt that I could give the highway traffic videos a run for their money.

So here are some birds, with background audio of me talking to SassyGirl on the phone.

I feel kind of silly writing this, my Saturday beer report. More than that, I feel a little bit guilty about writing it. 'Cause see, I can't or at least won't write about what was important. And I don't want those things that I do write to take away from the significance of those things that I can't or won't write about.

Did you ever see a shooting star so brilliant that it just took your breath away, and you just stood there watching it blaze across the sky, so awestruck that you forgot to make a wish? Did you ever then realize that you're wish had come true anyway?

Yeah, well me too.

Saturday I needed to get to Rich O's early. It was imperative. There were people that were going to be there and I needed to have suitable seating available.

So I left my house a little before 7:00. I was on my way to the haunted Burger King to get something to eat when HatGirl went zooming by me, honking her horn and giving me a heart attack. HatGirl was one of the people I was supposed to meet at Rich O's. One of the reasons that I needed to be there early. But she called to let me know that she'd be later than expected. Didn't matter though. I still had to find suitable seating. There was another.

I grabbed a quick meal and got to Rich O's at 7:30. There were already strangers in the living room area. Fuck! The island was empty though so I went to sit over there, but I glanced at the bar and saw MisunderstoodGirl. That was a very nice surprise. I sat at the bar and talked with MisunderstoodGirl and QuietDude. I also kept looking behind me to see if the fuckheads would be leaving any time soon. It didn't look good. They seemed to be well entrenched.

My first beer was a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (1483). Actually, so were my second and third beers (1523).

After much discussion about such lofty topics as boobs and lesbian mail-order brides, some other stuff happened. This is the part where I shut up for a while.

After that, HatGirl and LuckyFucker came in.

HatGirl!

Yay!

MisunderstoodGirl left, so I moved down one spot and HatGirl and LuckyFucker joined me and QuietDude at the bar. I continued to turn around to check out the living room area. Actually I increased the frequency of this quite a bit. I really really really wanted to move over there.

(Seriously, I really did. The opportunity just never presented itself. I was not afraid.)

But it was not to be. The fuckheads had given their seats to some new arrivals, and so I spent the entire night sitting at the bar.

As the night at Rich O's wore to a close, the living room area did eventually empty out. Not that I cared by that point. I and QuietDude and FutureDude and DooRagGirl all moved over there.

Oh yeah, HatGirl and LuckyFucker had gone, and DooRagGirl had come in. Try to keep up please.

Then they closed Rich O's up. The four of us went over to this Mac's place that I don't like. They had a band that was covering Pink Floyd and AC/DC though, so that was pretty cool. It was quite loud there. I had a Newcastle (2308) and we sat around for an hour or so basically shouting at each other because that was the only way to be heard.

At 2:00 or so, DooRagGirl suggested that we all go to her house where we could hear ourselves think and hear each other talk. I thought that this was a great idea because we'd been talking about her pussy and I'd become obsessed with the idea of getting to pet it.

So we all went over to DooRagGirl and FutureDude's house, and I got to pet her pussy. Several times in fact. I'd heard some scary stories about her pussy but it was really quite nice. You just have to know how to treat them.

I also got to meet the famous Harry the dog.

I also had another Newcastle (2320).

At about 4:00 or so I left and went to White Castle then came home.

Next up, we have the Oscar for Best Portrayal Of A Completely Normal Person Who Was Only Feeling Those Things That He Was Allowed To Feel Under The Circumstances And Who Was Also Most Definitely Not Having A Miniature Nervous Breakdown Every Time His Eyes Met Those Of A Certain Other Person Which Was Quite Fucking Often But Not Nearly As Often As He Would Have Liked.

And the Oscar goes to...

* DRUMROLL *

Me!

Yay for me!

I'm a little worried about a friend of mine tonight, just from something I think I might have heard.

I hope she's okay.

The place was packed. There are three dipshits taking up four spaces at the bar, and there's an old couple eating at the island, and UplandWheatDude is in the living room with some dipshits. I ordered a Delirium Tremens (650) and asked the old people if I could sit with them as long as I promised not to bother them. They agreed, but before I could sit down the living room people invited me to join them. Against my better judgment - such as it is - I went and sat on the loveseat next to some drunk fucker.

After a couple of minutes I picked up my shit and moved back to the island because the various drunk dipshits in the living room kept trying to talk to me.

(Edit: I do not include UplandWheatDude among the annoying dipshits. He's a good guy.)

---

I hope these old people leave before they try to talk to me.

---

These things in my head, these thoughts and memories and inklings - I wonder how many of them are real and how many exist simply to hide the truth. Or to impersonate the truth. I'd like to believe that there's some truth on the surface of me, but sometimes I can't tell. And I've surprised and shocked myself so many times that I don't think I trust myself anymore. It's not the best feeling I've ever had.

---

Fuck I wish these people would leave. They paid their tab 30 minutes ago and they're still sitting there yakking at each other.

(Update: Fucking finally!)

---

Oh shit! I just had an awful idea. What if that one loud bitch is that one dude's new girlfriend? If so, I may vomit.

---

Okay, this was messed up. You need to look at the map I guess.

After the old people left I moved to the spot marked with the "X." A few minutes later, a guy and a girl came in. They sat in the two spots next to me. What made this weird, what made this strange, what made this incredibly fucked up, what totally creeped me out was that - get this - the other side of the island was completely unoccupied! This creeped me out, like I said, and so I picked up my shit and moved back to the living room. Once I got there, people once again tried to talk to me, but that was nothing compared to those two freakazoids sitting right next to me.

About an hour later WomanRepellant came in. I offered him 5 bucks to go sit at the "X" seat. He was going to do it but there was a chick that distracted him and so he ended up sitting across from the freakazoids instead.

---

To write that last section, I took my second Delirium Tremens (660) and moved to the kiddie table. I don't feel like moving back.

---

Some people insist on talking about politics and religion in here. Some people suck. In many cases, these two groups overlap. Coincidence? I think not.

---

FutureDude is funny.

---

Hot girl alert!!!

---

I just figured out why I hate this one fucker. He's a pretentious asshole, but there are a lot of those around. But this guy is also an ass kisser. It's a pretty powerful combination.

---

Oh boy, I get to listen to CoffeeDude tell The Story Of His Home Roaster again.

---

What sucks about tonight is that the place is full of fakers. I find myself painfully aware of SassyGirl's impending departure. She'll join LaptopGirl and Spikeboy in the group of people who used to make this place worthwhile for me, but then moved away or otherwise stopped coming in. HatGirl doesn't come in often enough to make a difference. Neither does DooRagGirl. Once SassyGirl leaves I think that I'll have one friend left here.

---

Sure, there are plenty of people who I like just fine, but none of them are like me. There's something fake about every one of them.

---

Plus, a lot of them are just incredibly stupid.

---

I could probably do another Tremens, but it's Diet Coke time for now.

---

I probably shouldn't say this, but last night was the best night that I've had in a very very very very very long time. Maybe the best night of my life. So there.

---

I am stupid.

---

I wrote that I was stupid because I was 0 for 3 on returned calls tonight. But right after I wrote that HatGirl called me back. So now I'm 1 for 3. I'm still stupid though.

---

Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier is back on tap! I'm ordering one, but I probably won't drink it all (1463).

---

After that, I quit taking notes because HatGirl came in.

HatGirl!

Yay!

It was very nice to see her after so many millions of years. We ended up closing the place down together.

Then I went to White Castle and then I came home.

I bet, if I had any long-term readers left, I bet they'd be pretty pissed at me if they knew what was going on. What I'm keeping from them.

Good thing I managed to bore them all into a coma a long time ago.

---

Since I'm off work for several days, I of course went to Rich O's Thursday night. I'd expected the place to be packed, what with the holiday weekend and all, but it was only about half full. I sat on the throne and ordered a Smithwick's (1152).

Then WomanRepellant came over and pointed out that they had Delirium Tremens on tap.

Yay!

So I ordered one of those (650) and drank it first.

This is the part where I don't say anything.

Finally, I'd had enough "me time" and I went up to the island and listened to WomanRepellant and CoffeeDude and some dude I don't know talk about music for a while. It was boring, but it was better than having more time to think would have been.

At 11:30 or so, even though they were clearly kicking everyone out of the place, I wasn't quite ready to leave, so I had a Diet Coke and listened to some more boring music discussion.

Then I came home.

And this is another part where I keep my fucking mouth shut.